He travelled six hours to meet me – then disappeared

When my date came around the corner, squinting like he was checking if I matched my Instagram profile, there were two things on my mind.

First, that he looked the same as his profile – lean, tan, tall and with a distinct mixed martial arts fighter’s posture. Second, I couldn’t believe he was actually here.

I’d only met this man, *Finn, online seven days ago but now he’d spent six hours on a bus to meet me – most men won’t even cross town. Naturally I wondered if this was the kind of grand gesture that meant something.

All I knew about him was what I’d seen on social media: He had 30,000 followers, was a professional and had over 100 shirtless photos of himself.

I’d slid into Finn’s DMs while I was on holiday in Istanbul. In fairness, he had sort of initiated things by liking a few of my posts – professional swimsuit shots and editorial photos, the kind designed to attract attention. 

Admittedly I’d stalked his profile a few months ago, but now it seemed the attraction was mutual. And nothing says ‘fated connection’ like mutual thirst and algorithmic horniness.

‘Are you Thailand-based?’  I wrote, since I was heading to Phuket the next week.

Finn replied immediately. ‘I’m in Koh Samui right now.’

We traded messages and voice notes back and forth for a bit. He even sent shirtless selfies, one with him saying, ‘Now say goodnight to me.’

Normally that combo would have given me the ick, but I confused momentum for connection, so I didn’t mind.

Then Finn surprised me with a pitch: ‘Don’t waste time in Phuket, come to Samui on Wednesday.’

I explained that I couldn’t as Phuket was only a stopover before flying home to Australia, to which he responded: ‘Let’s make your two nights in Phuket unforgettable then.’

Assuming he was all talk no action, I went along with the joke sending flirty messages about ‘waiting many sunrises’ for him.

Sure enough, I didn’t hear from him for three days after that. I shrugged. It happens.

Then, the day before my flight to Phuket, he reappeared. ‘Sorry, been sick. What time do you land?’ He said.

‘3 p.m.,’ I replied, already planning my dinner for one. But, by the time I touched down, I had another message from him: ‘I’m on my way too. See you at 7:30 p.m.’

I froze to the spot. 

In a panic I sent screenshots to my group chat and asked for advice. 

‘You were too sweet. He thinks it’s on.’ One of my friends explained. 

‘Would a man really travel six hours for sex?’ I queried. Her simple answer was yes.

Together we came up with a plan for me to get out of going further than I was comfortable with (the old reliable ‘I’m on my period’). 

Then all that was left to do then was meet him.

When we locked eyes outside my hotel, I was hoping for fireworks. Love at first sight. A neat, romantic ending that would justify the bus ride, the flirting and my questionable faith in men with abs.

Nothing.

We hugged. Briefly. The kind of hug that says, yes, this is happening, but let’s not pretend it’s profound. 

Finn already checked into a hotel nearby, which was a quiet relief. He suggested dinner. I followed along, hoping chemistry might arrive late, like checked luggage.

At dinner, there was a confusing vibe. We’d skipped separate plates and opted for being that nauseating couple eating from the same dishes. Yet, other than the old clash of cutlery there was no real intimacy.

No brush of hands or lingering eye contact. Nothing that suggested that maybe this was something.

As for the conversation, it was stilted at best. Finn talked about his family in Sydney – presumably trying to make some connection with me – and once that topic was exhausted, he went on about how he had fought seven times for the One Championship in the ring. Riveting.

I didn’t have much more to say. I asked why one of his teammates had viewed my story and he laughed. ‘He asked why I was going to Phuket instead of training. I told him I had a date with you. He saw your profile and said, ‘Fair enough, off you go.’ And that was the end of that conversation.

After dinner, we ended up back at my hotel room because Finn needed the bathroom and his hotel was another 15 minutes away. I was keeping an open mind – he’d been polite, attentive, surprisingly normal. 

I ushered him straight onto the balcony. A safe distance from the bed. A clear signal that ‘unforgettable’ was not happening horizontally.

Then we kissed.

Despite the pool lights shimmering below, it was hardly romantic, coming via the second-hand smoke of a joint. Still it wasn’t the worst kiss I’d ever had and we continued like that for a while.

Eventually though he pulled back and suggested we go to bed.

There it was. Disappointment on cue. Men really can travel six hours for sex. I had one recently cross Turkey to prove it. All that travel for, well, that.

‘Not tonight.’ I said back gently, suggesting we still had a couple more days together.

He seemed to accept this reason, brushed my lips a final time and said: ‘Goodnight, my beauty.’ 

I was relieved Finn didn’t push it – but mildly offended he didn’t even loiter. No lingering, no chatting, no hanging around like a man who’d travelled six hours and still wanted to enjoy the scenery.

I was still open to seeing him again. Chemistry sometimes warms up slowly. Like leftovers. Or men.

As he’d mentioned training together at his friend’s gym, I waited to hear from him throughout the next day, but even my story views went quiet.

I stared at my phone, unsurprised but still a bit disappointed.

While I was under no illusion that our date had been a success, I had hoped Finn saw more in our brief flirtationship than just a quick shag. But clearly he saw his six-hour bus ride as a wasted journey.

Lesson learned for both of us: grand gestures don’t always end in ‘happy endings’, whichever one either of us were after.

*Name has been changed

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